


burn

by dames_for_jamesbarnes



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Beards, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Other, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29013156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dames_for_jamesbarnes/pseuds/dames_for_jamesbarnes
Summary: You say it so nonchalantly that Rafael’s unsure if you said anything at all. His nose is deep in a case file, halfway done with a summation, and his pen has been tapping incessantly against the legal pad he’s been scribbling on. So, yes, at first, he doesn’t hear. And you don’t tell him any different, your eyes on your book, hand turning a page with pursed lips.So he doesn’t even look up. Just hums, a noise which could be a response or organically his, and continues working.And then you shift a little closer.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Reader, Rafael Barba/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	burn

**Author's Note:**

> reader has a vagina/vulva, but there are no gendered pronouns.

You say it so nonchalantly that Rafael’s unsure if you said anything at all. His nose is deep in a case file, halfway done with a summation, and his pen has been tapping incessantly against the legal pad he’s been scribbling on. So, yes, at first, he doesn’t hear. And you don’t tell him any different, your eyes on your book, hand turning a page with pursed lips.

So he doesn’t even look up. Just hums, a noise which could be a response or organically his, and continues working.

And then you shift a little closer.

“Rafael,” you say, and his name is recognizable enough to warrant a look. He lifts a hand to scratch at his beard just a little, smiles at you as you smile at him. He can’t help the delight he gets as you watch his fingers move, close enough now on the couch that you can reach out and touch it yourself. It’s a good feeling, one of the reasons he keeps the beard at all.

“Yes?”

“I want to come on your face.”

It makes his mouth go a little dry. You’re still smiling at him like you’re talking about the weather, but now your nails are scraping at his skin, over his neck. You use one finger to tilt his chin up, take your bottom lip between your teeth as you scan his face. His pen has stopped tapping, and he can’t help the way he lets out a breathy chuckle, all at once aware of how quickly he’s gone half-hard in his pants.

“You do,” he states, trying his best to play at that same indifference, but it’s hard to pull it off when your eyes flicker down to his crotch, grin a little wider.

“I do. I want to sit on your face, and I want to feel your beard on my thighs… at the very least.”

The groan that leaves him is thick, catches a little in his throat as his head tilts back. Your finger is still on his chin, nail tracing the trimmed edge he sharpened that morning.

A memory comes back to him, from that morning, the way your eyes looked as he tilted his jaw up to create a perfect line, the way your fingers had come up around his neck a little to kiss him goodbye, and to say see you at home.

“You’ve been thinking about this a while, haven’t you?”

Your hands are moving to his lap, unfortunately only to gather up the miscellaneous papers in a neat stack and set them on a coffee table. You don’t answer directly, but your look is deep and dark and watching as Rafael once more takes his hand and runs it through his facial hair.

“A kink, perhaps, cariño?” His voice is low, now that the game is clear, and grin goes wicked. One hand reaches out to cup your cheek. “Thinking about my mouth on you?”

But your head shakes, even as your smile betrays your attitude. It gives him a thrill, the little twist of your lips, even as you hum and do your best to keep a straight tone. “Not quite. Really, what I’m envisioning is… hmm. More like this.”

The whole line of your body shifts. The couch is suddenly cramped, with your chest pressed against his arm, your mouth by his ear. Your hand once more curls in his facial hair, a little around his neck, and your first kiss since dinner is a chaste one right on his cheek.

“I think… that I’m gonna be sitting on your face,” you whisper. Your mouth ghosts over his ear. “You’re not gonna move. I’m going to be using you for my pleasure, and you’re going to lay there and love every damn minute. That sound all right?”

Of course it does, and you know it. You know it by the way that Rafael’s dick twitches in his pants, the way that his mouth has fallen open and he sucks a sharp breath in. You know it by the way his hand reaches out to grip your thigh, tight and perfect and hard enough that you think about both hands spreading your legs apart just like that. With bruises left for later.

“Just using me?” It’s a question, now, not a statement. “Is that so?”

“Yup.” Your lips pop the syllable, and you pull back from his ear so you can play with his hair, press more kisses against his jaw, down his neck. “Sounds perfect to me.”

“Is that what you think you do? You use me?”

A challenge to the status quo. One that comes with him pushing back, turning completely towards you. He can’t help the way his eyes drift over your body, the way the grip on your thigh shifts so he can put his other hand on your other leg. He does spread them apart, and can’t help but smirk with how easily you let him do so, can’t help but lift one hand to brush his thumb over your nipple through the fabric.

You shiver. It’s delicious.

“Is it really just using me?” he murmurs and he’s pushing forward. You don’t shift away but lean back, and soon you’re flat against the cushions. He looms over you, and your legs are wide, a space he gladly slots into. One of his hands goes to steady himself, pressed into the couch by your shoulder, and the other still holds one of your legs, now by the knee, his thumb rubbing circles into the crease of it. “I know you don’t yell anyone else’s name like you do mine. I know that no one else can make you come like I can.”

“You know, do you?” you return, and he doesn’t miss the way it bites. He meets it with a bite of his own, his head dipping down to kiss along your neck. That’s where he uses his beard first, scraping along your skin, a motion that makes your eyes flutter shut. “Fuck, Barba –”

“I think I’m going to give you what you want. I think I’m going to let you use my face to get off. I think I’ll let my mouth be your pleasure. Because I’m considerate like that.”

“But?” you bite out, trying not to squirm at the way his mouth has dropped lower, the way he’s taken one of your nipples into his mouth through your shirt, pulling off with a grin at the damp spot he’s left, blowing a rush of cool air on it to make you squeal.

“But when you come, it’ll be with my name on your lips,” he promises. He sits back on his haunches, looking down at you with a grin. “If you’re even able to speak at all.”

There’s a beat. Your eyes are half-lidded as you look up at him, peering through your lashes, mouth a little open at his words. “Is that a promise?” you reply with a sudden, brilliant, matching smile, and he pushes forward to kiss any further taunts out of your mouth. His mouth is brutal, teeth catching on your lips, and he relishes your groan as he once again drags his facial hair against your neck.

He bites this time. Nips all along your skin, trails his mouth along your collarbone.

“You’re a little brat, you know that?” he mutters.

“A brat who’s still dressed,” you hum, and his hand comes down onto your thigh, cupped, more for noise than any pain. It still makes you hiss, chuckle a little.

His hand moves to slide under your shirt, barely touching before pinching your nipple. You arch your back into it, and he grins.

“What did you want?” He’s quick, and suddenly fingers push your shirt up, hitch it towards your collarbone, so he can drag his tongue down between them. He alternates, gentle pecks on your skin and biting along your sternum. Each movement is accompanied by the scrape of his beard, and you can’t stop the way it makes you ache for him. “Something about my mouth?”

“I want – fuck, Barba, I want –”

“Ohhh… I think you’ll need to do better than that.”

He pulls back again, right as his mouth hovers over your waistband, his breath hot against your skin. Your frustrated sound makes him smirk, and you want to kiss it right off of his face. Want to pull at his hair, tilt his head back.

“Fuck,” you grumble, sitting up, propping yourself up on your elbows. Watching him as he stands, adjusts himself in his pants. Loosens his tie, scans your body, the way your shirt is still pulled up, the way your nipples are hardened in the chill of the room. “That’s cruel, counselor.”

“What do you want?” he asks once more, and you huff out a breath. “Tell me again.”

He’s playing with you now, but you can’t help the way your mouth twists into a smirk. Shaking your head as you lift from the couch to stand up next to him. You pull him in for a kiss using his loose tie for leverage, and he lets out a low moan at the feeling of the fabric taut against his skin.

“Want you flat on the bed. So I can straddle your face,” you say, letting your teeth pull at his bottom lip. “Wouldn’t mind if you begged for it, but we can save that for next time.”

He’s flush against you, and you feel the way his dick jumps in his pants at the thought. It makes you grin. Another time, then, for sure.

“Want your mouth on me. Want to feel you fucking me with your tongue. Want to feel you eat me out until I can’t think about anything else but you.” You punctuate each statement with a fierce kiss, one that pushes him back towards the bedroom. You want to strip him, want to push him back onto the bed, but he takes your distraction with telling him exactly how you want his mouth to pull your tee over your head. “Don’t want to think about anything else – fuck,” you gasp out, as he falls onto the bed and pulls you with him onto his lap. “Nothing else but your mouth.”

He uses the closeness to take your nipple in his mouth again, and this time you feel the heat of his mouth keenly, especially as his hand lifts to tweak your other nipple. “I’m offended you’re thinking of anything else right now,” he mutters when he pulls back, and you can’t help your laughter.

That makes you chuckle, lift your fingers to push through his hair. “You’re telling me I can’t think about your fingers? Your hands? Your cock?” The last one is followed by a roll of your hips, and that’s when he has to take a moment, sigh out a little noise before looking up at you like you’re the only thing on his mind.

“Next time,” he promises, in one breath. His hand smacks your thigh. “Up. Strip for me.”

“You want a show?” you ask him. You offer a shimmy of your hips with it, and his amusement is clear even as he shakes his head. You smile with him. “Next time,” you say easily, shrugging one shoulder, and he smirks.

“Or the time after that. Strip.”

There’s something in his voice. Something that’s in the undercurrent, something that makes you swallow, wishing that you had him in your mouth to swallow around. He seems to sense this, offering his fingers, and you take them in your hand before wrapping your lips around his index finger for a moment before pulling off with a pop.

There are so many things he could do to you. So many things he does, Rafael Barba. The way he looks at you, talks to you, laughs with you. It’s those thoughts that make you shiver as you drop your shorts, step out of them and kick them aside. Surely he can see the slick on the inside of your thighs, can guess how much you’re really dripping for his mouth.

You watch as he strips next. He unbuttons his shirt, slowly, and pulls it off of broad shoulders that you ache to trace with our lips. He stands, then, to drop his own pants, and you see the line of his cock in his briefs before he drops those, too. His cock stands at attention, hard and heavy between his legs, and for a moment, only one, you wish your knees were hitting the carpet.

But then your eyes drag up his body, over his stomach, his chest, and you’re once again reminded of what you’d asked him for. You eye his jawline with a hunger you’ve felt for a week, step forward to push both sets of fingers into his beard and tug.

He relents, falls into the kiss with a moan, lets his hand roam over your back. 

“Lay back, Rafael,” you breathe. And his obedience is thrilling, especially when he smirks at the way your eyes follow him.

He lays with his back flat on the bed, a mirror as to how you looked on the cushions, you’re sure. That sends a thrill through you, too, the sight of him, and you let yourself take it in.

“You going to move?” he asks, but he doesn’t shift with it. Simply raises a brow at your wandering eyes, until you meet his gaze.

“Just for that, I’ll take my damn time.”

His sound is a scoff, and his eye roll earns him another cock of your hips, arms over your chest as you look at him. “Wasn’t this whole thing your idea?” he offers.

Well. Fair, that one.

Of course, it’s worth it to start moving forward to see his arm reach out for you, his fingers beckoning you close, and when you’re finally, finally close enough to touch again he does so with vigor, pulling you onto the bed and letting you straddle him with a delighted laugh from you at the way he muscles you over. His fingers are on your hips, thumbs digging into the bone there.

“What happened to letting me use you?” you ask.

He shoots you a look. “You took too long.”

“Patience,” you purr, and a not-too-gentle hand pushes his shoulders back so they’re flat, pushes through his hair to tilt his chin. “It’s a virtue.”

And when he holds his tongue, even with the little glint in his eyes, you can’t help the way it leaves you. “Good boy.”

At that his eyes widen, just a little, and you delight in the way his hands on your hips tighten a fraction. You push your fingers through his hair again, and his eyes close, his head pushing up into the movement.

“Are you ready, Rafael?”

His ‘yes’ is barely more than a breath. A gasp for it, because he aches for you as much as you ache for him.

You’re careful. Shift up once, twice. Spread your legs, your knees on either side of his face, and you hover above him so you feel the ghost of his breath. The slightest touch of his beard on your skin, and you can’t help your gasp as you slowly lower to his mouth.

You place his hands where you want them. One on the outside of each thigh, and you feel him squeeze as he gently noses your clit. His tongue is the first thing you feel, and your core clenches at the kitten licks against your folds. You’re still hovering, just a little, and he uses the space to tilt his head, scrape his teeth against the crease of your thigh, to bite.

“Fuck.”

There it is. The unfamiliar scrape, the rub of coarse hair against your lips. You shudder, and he turns his head again to do the same to the other side, lifting his chin to catch the beard where he can.

“That’s it,” you gasp out, “y-yes, like that –”

It’s so easy for him to comply. And then you lower that last little bit, and he dives in, kitten licks turning to long swipes of his tongue, tasting your wetness, the way you’re wet for him.

He knows you, by now. Knows that you like the feeling of his tongue pushing into you almost as much as you savor the teasing touches to your clit. Knows that when you shudder, it’s because you’re squeezing your thighs around his head to feel the burn of his beard, and rolling your hips to match the way he’s licking you open.

You can’t breathe, not really. Each time you try, you roll your hips with it, and feel the scrape of his facial hair against your sensitive skin. They’re raw with it, and you can only gasp out his name as the blade of his tongue flicks over your clit, as you feel his hands grab at your ass and hold you against his face.

“F-Fuck,” you cry out. “Rafa –”

He can’t say a word, and they seem to fail you. He only responds by fucking his tongue inside of you next, eating you out like a starving man. Every so often his nose brushes against your clit, followed by his mouth, and the sparks that result make you tremble, especially as you feel the scrape of your skin against his face, movements that make you cry and gasp and moan.

Shaking, you drop a hand, but he bats it away. He wants to do this for you, get you off like he promised. You’re close to sobbing at the way he works you over. You dare to look down at him, and you’re startled by the sight of his eyes looking up at you, pupils overtaking any sight of green.

You feel his mouth enclose over your clit, feel two of his fingers slide home, fuck into you, and that’s when the dam breaks – looking down at him, the heat of his mouth matching the heat of his eyes –

You watch his eyes flutter at your sounds, and then you feel the familiar rush, the roll of your stomach, the cry that leaves you as you come on his face.

You come on his face. On his fingers. You’re gasping, little aftershocks rocking your hips. He pushes you through them, his tongue not stopping, it’s not stopping, it’s not –

“Rafa,” you urge, and he acquiesces – it’s a minor miracle though, because your thighs are trembling so much, you have to have him help you push off. His grin is delighted, delectable, and is only emphasized by the sight of your slick on his face, the shine of it on his beard and nose.

You’re gasping as you fall back next to him. The insides of your thighs are still alight, the nerve endings sounding off even as you lay beside him with your legs spread. Your breath still comes heavy, and when you turn your head it’s to watch him take his own cock in his hand, using the slick from your orgasm to fuck into his fist. 

“So good,” you whisper out, voice hoarse with that bone-deep exhaustion. “So good for me.”

You watch the way his hips stutter with that, and when your eyes seem to scrape along his body you finally meet his gaze. His eyes can’t leave you, the way your chest is still heaving, and you watch his tongue dart out to catch the taste of you one more time.

“Come for me, Rafael. My good boy.”

He does. A few more strokes and he comes over his fist, on his own stomach, and you’re pushing forward with the last of your strength to kiss him through it, to feel his beard in your hand and against your face once more. You taste him, you taste yourself.

You pull back to grin at him, at the daze in his eyes.

“That was…” he murmurs, and you kiss him again.

“Perfect,” you promise. You promise it over and over and over, as the two of you clean up, as the shower hits your backs and shoulders and faces, as you kiss him under the spray. As you make sure he’s curled up against your chest, forehead pressed into your sternum.

Just. Perfect.


End file.
